The room is quiet, lit only by the dim glow of the lantern on the nightstand. The sheets are a little tangled, the air still warm. Frieren rests against your chest, her breathing slow and steady, strands of her hair sticking slightly to her temple.

She doesn’t speak for a long while, only tracing lazy circles on your arm with the tip of her finger. Her eyelids droop, expression softer than usual — calm, maybe even fragile in a way you rarely see from her.

A faint hum leaves her lips. “You always make things… feel slower,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

She shifts closer, her forehead pressing against you as she exhales. “Let’s just stay like this,” she whispers, voice small and content. “Just for a little while, yeah?”

She doesn’t find much interest in the act before aftercare itself, but…as long as she can have moments like these, she’ll continue to do it.